Legacy
by kellyn1604
Summary: Arthur Ketch has finally found a woman that can give him what he needs. Written for a Villain Challenge on Tumblr. Will be eventual non-con smut.
1. Chapter 1

Arthur Ketch never had much of a childhood. Raised at Kendrick's, love was not something he had ever craved. Neither was a family, something he had firmly believed to be a weakness. He had his lovers and pets in the past. They had always satisfied his needs, however base they were, but he was becoming all too aware that he needed more for his very survival.

He was reaching an age where although his mind and skills were still as sharp as ever, the old men would be looking for signs that his body was slowing down. If he were lucky, he'd be put to pasture. If he wasn't….he'd like to postpone his trip to Hell as long as possible.

What he needed was a legacy. People like Lady Toni Bevell, who had procreated, would be seen as allies in the future. They would still have use, to keep the younger generation of British Men of Letters in line. People like Ketch would be loose ties to be dealt with.

The appeal of his name living on after his tenure naturally held appeal. He had cultivated his name into something to be feared and revered. Everyone knew Mr. Ketch. He was the one who was called to clean up after those who had failed. Exacting and precise. Professional and detached. Everything the Men of Letters expected from its operatives.

It was his attention to detail that had gotten him into his current circumstances. If Doctor Hess hadn't wanted him to exterminate all the victims in that vampire den he had found, she should have been more specific than just "take care of them."

Now he found himself exiled to the former colonies in search of legacies from the extinct American Men of Letters. After those Winchesters had made such a name for themselves, the old men had believed finding the rest of descendants and bringing them into the fold was a necessity.

For months, he had tracked, assessed, and reported on several prospects each more disappointing than the first. Then he found her.

Her grandfather had been a high ranking member of the Men of Letters before the organization was wiped out by Abaddon. She'd obviously inherited his intelligence though she squandered it on a ridiculous education to become, of all things, a librarian. If she only knew what her true destiny should have been.

He had found her in a city library, where she oversaw the workings of the traditional library as well as the many public programs made available through the week to anyone wishing to participate. Thursdays were his favorite. On Thursdays she donned a plastic princess crown, leading children through crafts and reading stories to them. Her patience with the urchins confused and impressed him.

In fact, she was kind and considerate to everyone she interacted with throughout her day. The wait staff at lunch. Her grocer. Her landlady. How she could enjoy such tedium was beyond him. Someone of her intelligence and beauty should have no need for anything more than common courtesy for the peasants around her, but she didn't seem to view them for what they really were. She was highly unsuited for life as a Woman of Letters. But perfectly suited for his needs.

With her as the mother of his children, his legacies would attain a higher stature with pure pedigree. He would attain importance Toni never would with her half breed boy. It might even put him in line to be an old man one day.

He felt he was finally ready for a wife, not just for breeding purposes, but for all the things a wife provides a husband. Support, comfort, domesticity, sex, and dare he say it, love. He acknowledged that a small part of him wondered what it would be like to be loved. To have someone look forward to seeing him rather than dreading it.

Entering the library, he made his way along the shelves, listening to her lilting voice and the giggles of a score of engaged children. Pretending to peruse the self-help section, he watched, the corner of his mouth twitching at her animation and general ridiculousness.

When her duties as Princess Story Time were finished, he waited for her to finish her farewells and take her place behind the circulation desk. Taking his book, he strode across the ratty old carpet and placed the book in front of her.

"I'm afraid, I haven't a library card as of yet. Is it difficult to obtain?" he asked. He knew his British accent had a way of wetting the panties of American women.

"No, sir. It's pretty easy. All you need is some id and to sign up using the computer over there. I can get you a guest login."

He pulled out his wallet and handed her his fake American identification he recently made.

Reading the card before making a photocopy, she said, "Oh, we live in the same area. I think I'm about a block away from you."

 _Half a block._ He smiled. "Small world. Perhaps, we'll run into each other since we're practically neighbors."

A faint pink spread over her cheeks as she tucked some hair behind her ear.

 _There it is._ He knew he could tempt her as easily as the others. The accent never failed.

"Here you go. Let me get you the login info, and you can check out 'If I'm So Wonderful, Why am I Still Single.'" She choked back a giggle as she turned her attention to pen and paper.

 _Bloody self-help section. Note to self, pay attention to the titles next time._

Watching her write the information needed, he took his time in admiring her. She really was exquisite. Not flashy the way most American women were, all make up, eyebrows, and eyelashes. She wore minimal makeup, her hair was straight and flowed down her back. Her clothing, conservative and modest, hugged her curves in the most appealing way. Give her a blazer and a fascinator, perhaps a boater, and she would look very British indeed.

A few minutes later he found himself standing in front of her once more. She clicked a few buttons on her computer and in a minute, scanned a small piece of plastic before handing him a freshly printed library card.

"Here you go, Mr. Smith." She scanned his book and returned it to him. "This is due in 2 weeks on the 25th."

"Thank you, Miss Kensley." Noting her look of shock, he pointed to her badge she wore on Thursday decorated with stickers by children with presumably stickier fingers.

She laughed, tugging the hideous tag off her cardigan. "It was made with love, and they did spell it correctly, so that's something. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Not exactly, unless you'd like to save me the time of reading this and have dinner with me?" he asked, grinning at her look of surprise.

"I'm not sure….with all the time you've spent in the self-help section, you might be a lost cause. I should probably wait until you've actually read something."

 _Beautiful and witty._ "Maybe I need an outside opinion. Your observations may prove of great importance in my journey of self-discovery."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be of much help." She leaned forward and whispered, "I have the same problem."

"Well, we should commiserate together. Over a bottle of wine and perhaps an overly large steak that seem so popular in the states."

She laughed. "That's a sweet offer, but no. Perhaps, I will see you around the neighborhood though. Have a nice day, Mr. Smith."

"Arthur."

"Have a nice day, Arthur."

Beautiful, witty, and sharp. What was life without a little challenge? Arthur Ketch was a man who got things done. Got what he wanted. And, oh, how he wanted her. He would mold her into the perfect wife and mother. Ensuring his lineage and survival.

* * *

Arthur had "bumped" into her a few times after their introduction at the green grocer, bus stop, and of course, the library. After his most charming banter, she continually refused his advances. Refused him. Him!

She didn't know what she was turning down, but by God, he would show her. She would regret it. Everything would have been so much easier for her. Now she would need to learn her place. It had been a week, since he had last seen her. His thoughts had not strayed, and his resolve only strengthened.

She had known, somehow, not to trust him. Admirable, really, but now he had been forced to deal with this using less customary courting conventions. He had limited time remaining on this mission. He had planned on using it for wooing and a whirlwind escapade and elopement across the pond, but now he had been forced to arrange everything clandestinely.

It was ridiculously easy. A few greased hands, a few forgeries. Nothing he hadn't done a thousand times. He didn't even have to worry about anyone missing her. Her family was all dead. Her social life relegated to a handful of posts on social media every now and then. He had a letter of resignation ready to send to her boss and a letter of lease termination with money for the landlady. No one would realize what had become of her.

Waiting for nightfall, he watched her busy herself around her apartment. Cleaning this, cooking that. Settling on the couch to eat dinner and watch the telly. How could she prefer her mundane rituals to the excitement of a first date? To him?

At a quarter to midnight, her lights finally went out. He needed to move quickly. Their flight was in the morning. He picked the lock and let himself in. He moved silently through the rooms until he found her sleeping peacefully in her bed. Taking a syringe out of his pocket, he pulled the lid off, and pushed the needle into her neck, securing her cooperation. He went out to the street to retrieve a trunk he had in his van.

For the next few hours, he packed the items he knew she would value. Most of her clothes and tacky little knick knacks ended up in a dumpster in the alley. He'd leave a note for the landlady to sell everything else and keep the proceeds.

He loaded the van. He climbed the stairs once more to retrieve her. Wrapping her in her blankets, he carried her gently as a groom would his bride relishing the feel of her weight in his arms. One very long plane ride and she would well and truly be his.

* * *

Kensley's eyes fought to open. Sluggish and heavy, she turned her body in her bed, slipping on the satin sheets. Panic started to infiltrate the fog that weighed down her brain as she slowly realized she didn't own satin sheets.

Using all her strength, she sat up and took in her surroundings. She sat on a king size bed in bedroom the size of her entire apartment. The walls were covered in a blue and cream damask wallpaper. A stone fireplace with a beautiful white mantle was on the wall opposite her surrounded by elegant couches with side tables and coffee table in between. Two large bay windows framed with heavy curtains were on her right each with a cushioned window seat. Painting and mirrors hung on the walls. A small secretary desk with books in the cabinet sat in a corner. Two doors were to left.

She stumbled to the door closest to her. Pushing the door open, she blinked as the she tried to focus on a white marble bathroom. Leaning against the wall, she walked to the other door. Locked.

Tears blurred her vision further as she slid down the wall. Crawling, she pulled her way to the window seat. She climbed onto the cushion and saw a neat lawn and beyond that trees. The windows wouldn't budge and even if they did, how would she climb down in her current condition? She pulled her knees into the cotton nightgown she wore and hugged them tightly.

Before she could start to try to make sense of her situation, the locked door clicked and swung open. Drawing herself behind the curtain she watched a man enter carrying a tray. Closing the door behind him with his foot, he crossed to the sitting area setting the tray on the coffee table. He turned toward the empty bed. His eyes quickly searched the room until they locked in on her in her hiding place, a smile spread across his face.

"Ah. There you are. Good morning, Mrs. Ketch."


	2. Chapter 2

Kensley awakes in a new place with a new name. Will she be able to escape the infamous Mr. Ketch? No smut this time...next chapter.

* * *

"There you are. Good Morning, Mrs. Ketch."

"There's been a mistake," she croaked. "I'm not Mrs. Ketch."

"I'm afraid, I have all the paper work that says you are. Marriage certificate, identification with your new name, even love letters we've sent via email for the last 6 months…."

"What? That's—that's not possible…." As the man stepped forward, mind reeling, Kensley's eyes began to focus through her unshed tears. Her eyes widened as she recognized the man in front of her. "Mr. Smith?"

"Mr. Ketch, actually. Now, my darling bride, let us enjoy some tea, and discuss this like a mature happily married couple."

Panic had frozen her lungs. She couldn't breathe. Happily married couple? Ketch? This was something that happened to unfortunate lasses in the highlands of Scotland centuries ago. Bride stealing was a trope for romance novels. It didn't actually happen in real life.

"My dear, are you quite alright?"

"Bathroom," she whispered. She needed to get away from him. Needed to think without him staring at her.

"Ah. Of course." He held out his hand to help her from her perch. As she leaned away from his touch, he sighed. "Are melodramatics really necessary?" He grabbed her arm and helped her walk to the bathroom. "The closet is in there as well. Get dressed when you're finished, and we can have our little chat."

Kensley entered the bathroom and looked in the mirror. She looked like a nightmare. No, she was in a nightmare and it looked like it belonged in a Jane Austen novel. Tears spilled down her cheeks as the gravity of her situation churned her stomach.

She had been kidnapped, was god knows where, with a man who apparently, stalked her before drugging her and moving her to a really nice house. _Who cares how nice the house is?Don't get Pemberleyed,_ she told herself, _focus._ She had woken up in a strange room, in clothes that weren't hers, with locked doors and windows. She was a hostage. A married hostage. He had forged legal documents binding them in matrimony. What else had he done? How long would she have to live like this? Was anyone looking for her?

She took her time seeing to her needs, trying to wrap her head around any type of action she could take. Too scared to shower, of leaving herself vulnerable to the man in the other room, she washed her face and tied back her hair. She tried to find anything she could use as a weapon, but there was nothing sharp or remotely wieldy in any of the drawers.

She opened the closet. It was large with his and her sides. Her clothing was elegant yet understated, things she would save for a special occasion. His was full of well-tailored suits. Nothing seemed at all practical for the everyday. Finding a simple blouse and box pleat skirt, she dressed herself making sure she had full range of motion. Curiously, the one thing she couldn't find was shoes.

Cautiously, she opened the door and peered into the bedroom. She saw Arthur, if that was even his first name, sitting on the couch drinking tea as if all this was ordinary. It probably was for him. How many other women had he kidnapped?

"Well, don't you look lovely? Come and sit."

Kensley eyed the exit as she walked slowly towards him.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." His voice had lowered, the cheerful pleasantness gone sending a chill down her spine.

It was now or never. She made a mad dash for the door yanking it open, running into an expansive hall. She caught sight of a nursery and several more bedrooms as she sprinted past their doors. Finally reaching the stairs, she prayed she didn't fall and break her neck.

The front doors were just ahead of her. Three heavy padlocks and a bar across the top, changed her course, she turned to the door on her right. Entering a perfectly appointed parlor, she could hear heavy footsteps make their way leisurely down the stairs.

She moved through an adjoining dining room towards the back of the house. Maybe, the kitchen would have a way out….a servant's exit, something he overlooked.

He voice sounded from the entryway. "I'm very disappointed in you. I'm afraid you're not going to like the consequences of your little jaunt when I find you. And I will find you."

Entering the kitchen through a swinging door, she looked for a place to hide, anything. That's when she saw it. A doggie door. Dropping to her knees, she worked her shoulders through one at a time then her hips.

Gravel paths lined with short shrubbery surrounded the house cutting intricate designs through the lawn. She realized as she tried to take off at a run why she hadn't been able to find shoes as the small stones cut into her soles. Trying to ignore the pain, she pushed through the shrubs to the grass and turned towards the tree line.

Taking a chance, she glanced over her shoulder. She could see him stalking her. Not even running. Why wasn't he chasing her? His calm demeanor, however, did nothing to calm her fears. If anything, it made her more desperate. What kind of a man was she at the mercy of?

Entering the woods, her progress was slowed by thick underbrush. Her lungs heaved. Branches and leaves scratched and tore at her clothing. Her feet were assaulted by rocks and needles on the forest floor. Only it wasn't a true forest.

In front of her was rock wall covered in ivy and moss. Too tall to jump over. It seemed to go on forever on either side. The sound of twigs snapping and leaves crunching under foot was closing in on her. She gripped a rock and tried to pull herself up, her feet slipping on the moss.

A strong hand grasped the base of her pony tail, pulling her off the wall. "You Americans, all brazen impertinence. You all lack discipline. And what have you accomplished besides becoming filthy and angering me?"

Kensley was spun around and pressed up against the wall. Stones and leaves digging into her back. Her wrists were pinned by one large hand above her head. Ketch pressed himself against her closing the distance between them preventing her from kicking him effectively. His free hand traced her jaw. She turned her head trying to escape the caress. Fingers gripped her chin, turning and tilting her face until she was looking up at him. Cold fury radiated from his hazel eyes. His lips pulled tight in a sneer

"However, there is an arousing charm to your disheveled state. Your skin flushed, heart racing…." His words trailed off as he stared at her lips, his thumb sweeping over them in a gentle caress.

She tried to jerk her head away when she felt his lips on hers, his tongue invading her mouth. But his hands kept her firmly in place. The taste of iron filled her mouth as she bit down on his lip.

His hand touched his mouth. Fingers stained red when he pulled them back to inspect. "Like I said lacking discipline. Something we shall remedy immediately."


	3. Chapter 3

Kensley's arms were whipped behind her back, metal cuffs clinked as they bound her wrists. Ketch hauled her over his shoulders, his hand holding her bare legs under her skirt, and made the trek back to the house as if she weighed nothing.

Her attempted escape seemed to last for hours, but the return only seconds. She tried to keep her mind straight, to look for future avenues of freedom, but the unknown of what was to come splintered her thoughts in frantic mercurial directions.

Up the staircase, down the hallway, into the bedroom, where she was tossed unceremoniously on the mattress. He walked away and closed the door. He removed his fitted suit jacket and laid it across the back of a chair.

Turning, he glared at her. He tugged at his tie, loosening the knot until he pulled it out from under his starched collar dropping it to the floor. He undid his cufflinks one at a time, setting them on the side table by the bed and said, "I hadn't expected such boldness from you. I have no desire to hurt you, but how will you learn without consequences for your actions?" He took his time rolling his sleeves to his elbows.

Panicking, she tried to sit up, to get away from him somehow, but his hands were on her in an instant. She struggled as he rolled her onto her stomach and pulled her to the edge of the bed, her feet touching the floor. Pinning her down with one strong hand, he flipped up her skirt with the other.

"No!" she screamed as she felt her panties being pulled down her thighs. She tried to squeeze her thighs together.

"At Kendricks, they favored the cane, but I believe what you need is a firm hand," he said. A resounding slap that resonated in the room, as his hand came down her exposed cheek. "That was for willful disobedience."

Kensley's eyes watered, her cheeks burned with humiliation and shame as his hand came down a second time harder than before.

"For ruining your clothes."

She cried out as a barrage of strikes hit their mark.

"For—biting—my—lip." Each word punctuated with a slap.

Her abused cheek stung. Swallowing her pride to save her hide she sobbed, "I'm sorry. Please. Please stop."

"There now. Finally, some manners." Opening a drawer in the nightstand, he pulled out a bottle. He flipped open the lid and squirted an excessive amount of lotion into his palm. Kneeling down behind her, he rubbed his hands together before massing the lotion into her burning cheek. His massage was not limited to the smarting flesh. His hands rubbed and explored her thighs, hips, and spread her cheeks giving him a peek at her pussy.

"Mmmm, what a pretty little cunt you have, pet."

She whimpered and squeezed her eyes shut. To her surprise, her panties were pulled up and her skirt down, covering her once more. Her wrists were freed from the metal cuffs, and two strong arms scoop her up, cradling her on his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"You did so well. Such a good girl." His arms wrapped around her body in a comforting embrace as he kissed her forehead.

She hated herself for enjoying it a little. It had been so long since she had been held that way.

"Now, I want you to take a shower. Wash and shave. I'll go and refresh our tea tray," he said, pushing her gently off his lap.

Kensley entered the bathroom, locking the door behind her, and turned on the shower. Stripping, she turned and examined her body in the mirror. She had small superficial scrapes on her arms and legs from the woods, and a large red handprint covering most of her cheek.

She stepped into the hot water and washed herself head to toe trying to scrub his touch away, but the stinging lingered. She knew she would feel it every time she sat for the next few days. She shaved as instructed, but no matter how smooth and soft her skin felt, she still felt unclean.

How could this have happened? What had she done to deserve this? She led a quiet life. She was nice to everyone. She did her taxes. Just why?

Falling to her knees, she felt the dam of emotions break within her. Tears mixed with the water flowing down her face and body as she sobbed hysterically. There was still so much she wanted to do. So many regrets. She had thought she had so much time ahead of her. All of it was stolen, the minute she was taken.

The lock on the door clicked before it swung open on its hinges. She curled herself into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest, crossing her ankles in an attempt at modesty.

"Now really, you can't drown yourself in the shower." Ketch turned the water off and tossed a towel to her. He hung a robe on the shower door. "Dry your tears and anything else still wet, put this on, and come have a spot of tea. Do not make me come back in here," he warned sternly.

She dried herself quickly, leaving her hair still damp. Clutching the robe, she warily made her way to the bedroom. She looked at the closed bedroom door once more as she walked towards him.

"It's locked. Fool me once and all that," he said from the couch.

Kensley gingerly sat on the couch opposite his, watching him arrange cups and saucers. She remained quiet as he set about putting a few cookies and tiny sandwiches on plates.

"How do you take your tea?" he asked.

"Iced."

Arthur clucked his tongue in disapproval. "You're British now. Best adapt. Two lumps and a splash of milk."

He passed her a cup and saucer. She stared at the tattoo on the back of his hand, a black and red cross, she'd never noticed it before.

Noting the direction of her gaze, he explained, "I covered it when we first met. Perhaps if I hadn't you would have been more inclined to accept my invitations. I hear American girls are attracted to bad boys and all."

Was this just some matter of pride to him? A way to assuage his bruised ego? She sat the china on the coffee table, no longer able to hide the clinking caused by her trembling hands. She couldn't tell if they shook from nerves or anger. She bit her tongue, knowing an outburst would earn her nothing but more punishment.

"Why did you turn them down?" he asked.

She looked at him. He seemed genuinely curious as if the thought of someone denying him was completely foreign. _It probably was to him,_ she thought. "I've met plenty of guys like you that like to 'slum it' with girls like me. They always leave when they find someone more 'appropriate'. Someone they could settle down with. I didn't want to go through that again."

"It never occurred to you that my intentions were sincere?" He sat back drinking his tea.

Without his jacket and tie, leaning against the back of the couch, he looked like a regular guy. She had to admit, she had found him handsome, but there was always something off about him. "No," she said succinctly. "And if you had been, you wouldn't have given me a fake name, Arthur….is it even Arthur?"

"It is. And that was for your own protection."

"My pro—right because you're some sort of super secret spy?" she scoffed.

"Something like that," he drawled.

Kensley rolled her eyes. "Right. And why would someone like you, a top secret spy, want to marry someone like me?"

He shrugged and set his tea down, reaching for a small sandwich. "Because you are special. And…I wanted you."

Unable to contain her disdain any longer, she jumped to her feet. "You kidnapped me! I was happy!"

"Happy? In that shabby little flat? Working in a job that would take you nowhere? No social life to speak of. Who in your life will even think to look for you? Do you know it only took 2 letters to your boss and land lady to cover my tracks?"

Her heart skipped a beat. No one was coming for her. "Oh, so in your head, you rescued me? Pulled me out of my pathetic gutter? Thanks, but I didn't ask for your help, and I don't want it."

"You should be thanking me. You were meant for so much more. I'm actually helping you achieve your destiny, you little ingrate."

"You sound crazy."

"There is a thin line between insanity and genius, they say. You must have felt that your life should have been different. Better."

"Everybody does at some point." She tugged at her robe making sure it still covered her and pulled the sash tighter, fidgeting with the satin.

He picked up his cup and sipped once more. "Yes, but you, my dear, actually were. Always drawn to monsters and mythology. Dreams of slaying and vanquishing…."

"I had an overactive imagination as a kid." She shook her head. What did any of this have to do with anything?

"Yes…'as a kid.' That's why your home was filled with literature about vampires, werewolves, demons…"

She crossed her arms and glared at him.

Ketch smiled, clearly amused at her frustration. "Oh, do keep pouting. It's adorable."

She growled, her anger boiling inside her. "That's all just fantasy."

"To the average human, yes. To us, it's reality. Monsters, magic, all real." He sat back drinking in her reaction. She stared at him like he had sprouted a second head.

She threw her hands up. "Oh my god. You're certifiable."

"Possibly. You want proof I take it? Here's the key." He tossed a small metal object at her. She caught it reflexively. "Walk out that door, and I won't lift a finger to stop you."

Kensley eyed the key in her hand. Her freedom. This was a trick. A trap of some sorts. She just didn't know how.

"Go on," he urged.

She turned and walked towards the door. She had only made it a few steps when she heard a strange word uttered behind her and she was frozen in place. She tried to move but nothing happened. Not even a twitch.

"Anything wrong?" he asked feigning innocence. He stood and walked over to her.

"What did you do?" she asked. "You said you wouldn't stop me."

He stopped before her, smiling. "I said I wouldn't lift a finger to stop you. All I said was one word. A simple immobilization spell. It freezes you in place." His hand caressed her face, trailed down her neck, following the opening of her robe. Her eyes widened as she watched him tug her sash and her robe fall open. "Now do you believe in things you can't see…" His hand traced down her abdomen, cupping her mound, his finger slipping between her folds. "Or touch?" he whispered in her ear.

"Stop. Please." She tried to move her arms to push him away, to move her feet to run to no avail.

His fingers slowly entered her, moving with ease through her wetness as her traitorous body responded to his touch. "It doesn't feel like you want me to stop. So wet already. How about I'll cease when you cum? If you want this to end, all you need to do is give in to it."

Ketch carried her stiff body to the bed and laid her down. He spread her legs and settled between them. His tongue spread her lips as he licked her from taint to clit. Sucking and lapping at her lips. He used his thumbs to spread her further giving his mouth better access to her sensitive bud.

 _The faster this is over the better_ , she thought. She tried to focus on the sensations and not the man feasting on her. Her body relaxed, pleasure sweeping through her as his lips pulled at her clit and two fingers pumped in and out of her pussy at a steady pace, crooking to hit her g-spot at the perfect moment every time.

Kensley bit her lip trying to deny the moan building in her throat. Her hands gripped the sheets. Her hips bucked. Her muscles tensed as her orgasm washed over her. Panting and perspiring, her body relaxed, sated.

"There now," he said, wiping his face with a pressed handkerchief. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"It's not a fair fight if I can't fight back." she snarled closing her robe.

"Darling, I released that spell the moment your back hit the mattress. The way your hips were grinding against my face should have signaled your freedom. You could have fought back, stopped me, but you didn't want to."

Her mouth hung open. She could have stopped it. She could have closed her legs or pushed him off the whole time. Shame and confusion clouded her mind. How could she let him do that? Had she actually enjoyed it? What was wrong with her?

"Don't feel too bad, love. It's better you learn to enjoy it. Now get some rest. I'll be back in time to dress for dinner."

She climbed under the sheets and watched him walk out the door. Closing her eyes, she could hear her tears hitting the pillow. She found her only escape in the deep sleep that came to her as exhaustion over took her.


	4. Chapter 4

Kensley learns of Arthur's plans for her. Non-con smut and some breeding kink

* * *

Arthur donned a fresh shirt and tie for dinner. He escorted a well-rested Kensley in a fetching black dress to the dining room for an intimate dinner where the first course was already served. Pulling out her chair, he helped her into her seat as any gentlemen would. And yet, since the moment he had awoken her from her nap, she refused to speak to him. Refused to acknowledge him.

They sat eating in silence through the soup and salad. She wouldn't even make eye contact with him. How long did it take for one to accept their new place in life? He hadn't nearly fought so hard when he was taken from his family and put through the hell that was Kendricks. Americans had no sense of duty.

As she slowly ate her food, he took the opportunity to admire his acquisition. She was beautiful in her form fitting dress. But oh, how he yearned to see how much more so she would become with the glow of impending motherhood lighting her features. Her breasts swollen. Belly round with his child. A visible representation of his virility. His cock twitch at the thought of her pregnant, her heavy breasts bouncing as she rocked her hips on top of him, riding him, her head thrown back in pleasure.

The cook came out of a side door to take their plates. Kensley's head turned, her eyes alight with hope. As she opened her mouth to speak, Ketch interrupted, "It's no use. Helga here is completely loyal and has sign several non-disclosure agreements in return for being paid handsomely. Isn't that right, Helga?"

Helga nodded, removing the dishes and walking back to the kitchen. She returned promptly with two plates filled with roast chicken, vegetables, and herbed potatoes.

Ketch stared at his sullen bride as she stabbed a carrot violently with her fork. "Not much for small talk, are we? The silent treatment is childish, Kensley."

"Fine you want to talk?" She set down her fork. "Why? Why me? What makes me so special that you chose ruin my life?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "This attitude of yours is going to grow tiresome rather quickly, but to answer your question your grandfather. You just happen to be the granddaughter of a member of the American branch of the Men of Letters. We're as you call it 'super secret spies,'" he drawled.

"No, my grandfather was a traveling salesman. Vacuums. I think."

"I assure you, he was not." Ketch stood, pushing his chair away from the table. "Follow me."

"I'm not done eating." Picking up her fork once more, she busied herself moving food around her plate, her body tensing as he walked towards her.

"Now." He towered over her and held out his hand.

Kensley pushed her chair back and rose. Clasping both hands in front of her, eyes meet his with a silent challenge.

"Stubborn and willful. Not exactly becoming qualities for a wife, pet."

"Kidnapping and coercion aren't becoming either," she snapped back.

"Touche." His lips quirked at the edges ruining the lines of his well-practiced sneer. He called to Helga who entered the room, "We'll take wine in the study now."

He placed his hand on the small of her back and nudged her forward. Stiff backed and head held high, she begrudgingly allowed him to lead her to the other side of the house to rooms she had not yet seen.

Arthur opened double doors to reveal a large office that looked as if it could also double as a museum. Several cabinets with glass doors held ancient volumes flocked tall mullioned windows. Glass display tables held ancient artifacts and scrolls. On a large stand, a dark deteriorating book stood open with foreign hand written symbols and words. He watched her walk amongst his collection, gingerly touching the glass trying to get closer looks at amulets and relics that had once held powers of deities.

Helga discreetly left a bottle of white wine and a pair glasses on a small side table before leaving just as quietly. Arthur poured liberal amounts for the both of them. Kensley stopped and looked at the walls and ceiling all heavily warded with sigils and symbols.

"To keep the bad things out," he said, handing her a glass.

Taking a sip, she asked, "What about the bad things already in?"

He grinned. She was really too clever for her own good. How he wished he could break her and rebuild her. But there wasn't time for that. "You'll find there are much worse things in the world than me, my dear. Believe it or not, I am one of the good guys."

She audibly scoffed and turned towards the large black book, studying its cryptic pages. Grotesque pictures littered the pages.

"A grimoire from a now extinct line of witches." He went on, "I have journals, manuscripts, and books of ancient knowledge of the mystical and supernatural long since downloaded into the Men of Letter servers whose absences are not noticed. Your grandfather had access to the same information as an American member." He went to his desk, retrieved a file, and passed it to her. "Your grandfather's information."

She opened the file greedily, flipping through the pages quickly. "So what happened?" She continued to sip her wine and read the file.

"The entire faction was wiped out by a demon. A knight of Hell actually…"

"Hell is real? Is Heaven?" she asked her curiosity getting the better of her as he knew it would.

He nodded. "Recently, two legacies of the old American line were discovered mucking about, I was charged with locating and assessing the descendants of those member to see if any met our standards."

"And I did?" Disbelief and a touch of pride played across her face.

"No. You are far too good and kind for our line of work." He watched her, crestfallen, taking a large swig of wine. So uncouth. "We are required to do things, unimaginable things to keep this world safe." If only she knew what he was truly capable of.

"Then why?" she pleaded. "Why am I here if I'm not good enough to be in your elite club?"

"You may not meet Kendricks' criteria, but you did exceed my own."

"For what?" she asked exasperated.

"I, too, want a legacy. Someone to carry on the family name. You and I would make beautiful, intelligent, and proficient agents."

Offended fury radiated from her as realization dawned across her face. "So, I'm nothing but a broodmare! You expect me just to spread my legs and pop out your spawn?"

"Don't be so vulgar. If you were only good for that I wouldn't have gone through the trouble of marrying you and bringing you here. I should be commended for overlooking all your American flaws."

He ducked as her wine glass came flying at him, shattering behind him. He turned to make sure none of the wards had been broken. When he faced her once more, she was running at him like a deranged banshee.

"You pompous, arrogant, asshole." Her nails raked his skin trying to inflict damage to his face. Her feet assaulted his shins.

Arthur grabbed her wrists and swept her legs out from under her. Her back hit the floor, knocking the breath from her lungs. He took advantage of the few moments it took for her to recover to pin her down underneath him.

"I'll never have your children," Kensley spat, struggling in his grasp.

"You're under the impression that you have a choice." He tugged at his belt loosening it and pulling it from the loops around his waist. He wrapped the belt around the thick carved leg of a heavy display table then bound her wrists together.

Restrained she frantically kicked her legs trying to defend herself as her skirt was pushed up. "I hate you! I'll kill myself before I carry your child."

"No, you won't. Because you'll never remember any of this." He ripped her panties from her body and spread her legs.

Repeating the ancient words he had researched in case she handled her new situation poorly, he untucked his shirt, opened his pants and pulled out his aching cock. As he finished his incantation, her eyes glazed over. Lining up to her entrance he pushed himself into her warmth. Tight and resisting flesh gave way to his thrusts as her body relaxed and wetness coated his length.

Where once she had screamed and berated him, moans and mewls now escaped her throat. He wasn't going to last long, he had gone wanting for weeks. To have her under him, meeting his thrusts, arching her back. It was too much. He reached between them and stroked her clit in small circles. Her muscles fluttered, her pace faltered. Her face froze in ecstasy as her pussy tightened around him. He felt his own orgasm building, his dick convulsed releasing hot cum deep within her. He fell on top of her breathing deeply in the crook of her neck.

"Arthur?" a confused voice asked.

"Yes, my darling?" He looked down at a confused face smiling shyly at him.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Surely, you weren't that intoxicated, love." He removed the belt, kissing her pink wrists.

"Intoxi—"she started.

"We were drinking wine. One thing led to the other. You became so passionate I had to restrain your arms. See where you scratched me?" He motioned to his face.

She giggled and blushed. It was so becoming. "I'm so sorry." She cupped his face lovingly. "I'll try not drink so much next time."

Arthur kissed his bride and sighed in relief when she returned his affection. "Oh, but I insist you do. Naughty minx. Why don't we retire upstairs? Perhaps a bath?" He stood and helped her to her feet.

She pulled her dress down and smoothed her hair. "That sounds wonderful. Arthur?"

"Hmmm?" He zipped his fly, leaving his shirt uncharacteristically untucked.

"I'm so glad I said yes." She wrapped her arms around his waist as false memories of their first date and elopement played through her head.

He laid a kiss on her forehead, holding her tight. "I'm glad too. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't."

* * *

Hey guys! If you like this story let me know. I live for comments. You can also come say hi on Tumblr. Same username.


	5. Chapter 5

Sweat matted long hair to her neck, beads flowing down her temples, as her pulse raced from the dream that tore Kensley from her sleep. No. Not a dream. A memory?

She had been running through trees away from something. Not something. Someone. Her eyes opened, taking in her surroundings. That someone was snoring softly next her on the plush mattress. Ketch.

Panic spread through her body as she struggled to sit up. Something was weighing her down. Rolling to her side, she pushed herself up and gently slid off the edge of the bed, her back aching as her feet hit the hardwood floor.

She felt slow and sluggish as she made her way over to the window seat. Moonlight danced through the drawn curtains. She knew where she was. But how did she get there? Memories flickering in and out, brief glimpses of her life playing like slideshow in her brain.

"Kensley, darling. What's the matter? Is it the baby?" a low groggy voice asked from the bed.

Baby? She ran her hands down her body, finding the curve of a hard round stomach where once there was none. Bile rose to her throat.

"Kensley?" The voice was more alert. Clipped and crisp.

"Just a bad dream, dear," she replied with an even tone. Dear? Where had that come from?

He was laying on his side, his head resting on one hand while the other patted the mattress next to him. "Well, come back to bed. Let's see if I can give you a good a dream."

"Of course, I just need to, um, freshen up." Where the hell was all this Stepford coming from? She crossed the room, feeling the sway of her slight waddle, and locked herself in the bathroom.

Her eyes squeezed shut against the bright onslaught of light as she flipped the switch on the wall. She opened to see herself in a silk nightgown. Her breasts were swollen, straining against the lace edged fabric. The pink silk hugged her growing belly, accentuating all of her new curves. How did this happen?

Leaning over the sink, she pressed her forehead into the palm of her hands, fingers disappearing into her hairline. Conflicting memories, kidnapping and elopement, disgust and affection battled in her mind. Both felt real, but she knew, somehow, the first dates and romance were too good to be true. Nightmares came true, not dreams. And monsters were very very real.

Anger fueled tears ran down her cheeks as she slid to the floor realizing that she not only wept for her stolen life, but for the loss of her fairy tale. _How fucked up is that? Mourning something that was never real._

Images of picnics on a plaid blanket with baskets of food in meadows, moving furniture in their bedroom so Ketch could teach her how to waltz, late night movies, drives in the country made her heart ache, and her cheeks burn as those memories melted into scenes of her riding him on that blanket under an open sky, him thrusting into her against the wall as music filled the room, and his cock in her mouth as she please and teased him while he drove down scenic country lanes.

The love she felt for him was real, but so was the hate. Confusion overwhelmed her as she tried to make sense of anything. How could she love such a horrible person?

She didn't. Of course, she didn't. She hated him and resented him down to his stupid pocket squares. Didn't she?

Her hands slid across her belly, cradling the growing bump. She felt a small thud as the baby moved inside her. The only thing she knew for certain right now was that she loved her baby and would do anything to protect him. Him. Her son.

How could she protect him from the world his father wanted to bring him into? Vampires, demons, werewolves. A world where he would have to kill or be killed at such a young age.

She couldn't run. Arthur would find her. He'd probably kill her because of that blasted code.

 _Blasted? When did I start saying blasted?_

Even if he didn't come after her the British Men of Letters would. They would never let her leave. She knew too much. She had met enough of them to know she was always being watched. Always.

What choice did she have but to stay? She wouldn't kill herself and her baby. She couldn't. She was in a foreign country. No passport. No money. No friends. No other means for escape.

What kind of life would that be? With a man willing to do anything to get what he wanted. A man she could never trust.

She washed her face. She had been in there too long. She didn't want to raise suspicion. Who knew what kind of spell he would use next. Or would he just stoop to chaining her to the bed? A damsel in distress, locked in her tower, guarded by a dragon. Her fairy tale ending.

She turned the light off and tip toed back into the bedroom, stopping short as saw Ketch sitting on the edge of the bed in lamplight, his head resting in his hands.

"I was wondering if the pregnancy would interfere with my spell work," he said.

Kensley froze. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm not entirely certain. At first, it was of little consequence if it was real…" His voice trailed off as his eyes raised to look at her.

"And now?" she asked.

"And now…I'm not so certain." He stood and crossed the distance between them. He reached for her hand, placing it in his. "I have been curious as to how you would feel if you awoke."

She watched his thumb stroke the back of her hand. "How do I feel?" she repeated. "How can I love a man I don't know?" She pulled her hand away, her voice raising as she continued. "A man who kidnapped me. Who took away my free will. My choice."

Ketch rolled his eyes. "Really. I only changed how we met. It would have been the truth, had you not stubbornly refused me time and time again."

She felt her pulse quicken and heat flamed her cheeks. "So this is my fault?" she yelled incredulously.

Ketch held up a hand, stopping her tirade before she could work herself into a blustering rage. No need for anymore American melodramatics.

"My point was that your feelings were all real. You just have to get over how things began."

"Get over it? And if I don't?" She crossed her arms and took a step back.

"Well…I could always make you. Again." He stepped forward, forcing her to retreat until her back was pressed against the wall.

She looked up into his eyes, tears threatening to spill from her own once more. "I don't want to live my life under a spell."

He reached for her face, glaring as she flinched away from his touch. "Well, it seems you have a choice to make after all."

His warm palm rested against her cheek. She fought the urge to lean into his touch and to push him away. Her body craved him and yet she the thought of him touching her repulsed her in equal measure.

"Show me you want to begin again. Prove to me you can be a _good girl_."

Shivers ran down Kensley's spine at those words. Words she once loved when he had praised her. She knew what he wanted. Knew what she had to do, but could she do it? Isn't this what she had asked for? A choice? She was a prisoner either way. Better to be in a prison of her own choosing.

She pulled the straps of her nightgown down her shoulders, pulling her arms through the thin strips. She pushed the rest of the material over her belly letting it slip off her hips, flowing around her ankles. Sinking to her knees before him, she pulled the drawstring of his pajama pants gripping his half erect shaft. She pumped the length in her fist, feeling it swell and throb before her lips encircled the head, swirling her tongue around the tip.

A rush of heat flooded between her thighs. She hated how much she loved the taste of him. The feel of him as she worked him further into her mouth with each rocking motion. Breathing through her nose, she relaxed her throat, letting her lips wrap around the base of his cock.

Ketch moaned. His hand reached down threading his fingers through her hair. "Yes, love. God, that feels good." His hips thrust; her throat constricted around him deliciously as she moaned.

Kensley pulled back catching her breath, and ran her mouth over the sides of his dick while her hand squeezed and pumped. Her head dipped as she licked and sucked on his balls lifting them gently with her free hand, massaging the sensitive spot right behind them with the pad of her finger.

* * *

Ketch watched his wife on her knees. She knew exactly what pushed him over the edge. But he wasn't ready to be finished with her yet. He need to see her come undone, the real her.

He pulled her head back loving the wet sound as her lips left his wet cock. He walked to the bed, laying across the center his head propped up by a down feather pillow. He watched her hesitate, the realization dawning on her face that he expected her to do more than just service him. She had to allow herself to feel pleasure and fulfilment with him.

She paused before squaring her shoulders. Standing with her head held high, she walked towards him. She was no blushing bride, her hips and breasts swaying, as she made her way to the bed. His cock throbbed and leaked. He loved seeing the proof of his virility becoming more obvious everyday as their child grew within her. So arousing. They would, of course, be having several more.

Kensley crawled over him, straddling his thighs. He could see the resolve set in her eyes as she gripped his dick and working it in long strokes. Rising up, she slowly lowered herself onto him. A moan escaped her throat as she rose and sunk further onto him.

"So wet for me. See how much your body loves this?" Ketch ran his hand over her belly, up to breasts cupping the heavy weight. Her head flew back as he pinched and pulled at her nipples. "You were meant to be mine."

He moved his hand between her legs, his thumb finding her clit. He rubbed in sync with the rocking of her hips. Her breathing became in short panting bursts the faster she rode him. He took over control of their rhythm as hers became more erratic. He felt her muscles contracting around him as her orgasm pulsed through her body. Grabbing her hips he thrust into her again and again, prolonging her spasms until he at last found his own release.

Kensley rolled off of him to her side of the bed. Catching her breath before laying on her side and closing her eyes. Her breathing evened as she willed herself to sleep.

Ketch stared at her back. Such admirable determination. She may have made a good agent after all. Willing to do what needed to be done no matter how unsavory. Unfortunately for her, so was he. Touching her shoulder, repeated the incantation as he had every time she had awoken.


End file.
